


Touched

by Sp00py



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: F/M, Rough Sex, Violence, ”sex”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 17:16:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17451074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/pseuds/Sp00py
Summary: Sammy Lawrence and Alice Angel have plans for each other.





	Touched

Sammy knew of the angel who haunted the lower levels. He had his domain, and she had hers. They remained apart, separated by layers of ink and wood.

Sometimes, though, he would hear her singing through the pipes. Far away and ghostly, a beautiful melding of voices, interwoven into a single singer. On occasion, Sammy brought a violin over to the pipe and played along with her. He wondered if she could hear him playing, and often, long after their secret duet was over, he’d continue thinking about her songs, humming them as he placed cutouts. The world was so dark, so dim and warped, but she was a spark of brilliance.

She’d make a lovely sacrifice for his lord, except —

Except she frightened him. He’d not only heard her singing, but heard her speaking, heard her gutting others for their beating hearts and pulsating ink. He had no care for the creatures she tormented, and he listened with rapt attention as she lavished her cruelty on them. Beautiful and monstrous — he didn’t have to see her to know that’s what she was.

Alice frightened him, and she fascinated him. Sammy’s world was shaped by Bendy, yet she seemed to shape the world for herself. A force to be reckoned with.

When bow left string and the notes of his song died another death, Sammy hesitated a moment longer at the pipe for any other sigh or song that might rise up on airy wings.

“Hello, Sammy.” Alice said, and Sammy felt his heart stop as though she had it in her grip. Her voice curled like a snake around him. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” he said as soon as he could breathe again. To hear her utter his name!

“I’ve been listening to your songs, you know. You play wonderfully. Do you know who I am?”

“Alice Angel.” The name came to his lips like a prayer. She laughed, wild and crackling, and it sounded almost like a sob.

“Yes, Sammy. Yes, that’s right. Wonderful. I’m Alice Angel. And you, I know you, too.”

“You do?” She had said his name, but she seemed to be implying more than just that. Even Sammy didn’t know who he was before the ink, only that he had been someone. He had vague impressions of a life before, nothing important when compared to serving Bendy, but suddenly a spark of curiosity struck to life.

“Sammy Lawrence, the handsome music director. We used to work together, you and I. I would recognize that silver voice of yours anywhere. It’s a shame, though...”

She didn’t continue. Sammy was at war with himself. He knew she was leading him, and he found himself wanting to be led. Like a sheep to the slaughter. “What’s a shame, my angel?”

“My angel, ahahah, I like that,” she said and her laugh this time was crystalline. “But it’s a shame that we had a falling out. It was over something so silly, too.”

Sammy leaned into the pipe. He felt it must be about that one great, unspoken obstacle between them: Bendy. Sammy’s lord, and Alice’s oppressor.

“You really don’t remember?”

“I have very few memories of… before,” he said delicately. “Before my lord.”

“Bendy,” Alice said, and Sammy can hear both voices in it, flat with hatred.

“Ah,” Alice said suddenly, voice a little farther away and more echoing. There was a sense of fear, now. Sammy knew even before she spoke. “The Ink Demon — I have to leave — come to me, Sammy. Find me.”

“Alice?” He asked, but could already sense her presence was gone. Sammy sat by the pipe for a while longer. He wanted to go to her, not for his past, he didn’t care about that, but for Alice. For Bendy.

She really would make the most lovely of sacrifices.

  
  
  


Alice stroked the edges of the pipe as she spoke with Sammy, her mind far away, in a different world. Sammy Lawrence had been a truly handsome man, and she remembered his every touch as he explained to her the system on her first day. Ghosting over her elbow, fingers pressing into her back, pushing her a little closer for a cleaner sound. As he directed her to face toward the microphone, to read from the script there. Oh, she had been smitten. Such a handsome, handsome man. And a silver-tongued liar. She’d make him pay for that.

It really was a shame that Sammy didn’t remember. It denied her her vengeance (though she’d take it anyway), and… and she felt so alone, remembering a world before. No, she wasn’t alone. She had herself. She needed nobody but herself. Sammy would pay, just like all the rest who would dare to hurt her, to drag her back to the puddles, to steal away her role.

As though summoned by her dark thoughts, the walls crawled with ink. That accursed, decaying, _vile_ ink of the demon. Alice readied the final spring in her trap, then left before she knew it had snapped shut. It would work. Sammy was a man, and men were predictable. Except that Joey Drew, who fed her to the machine. But she was so close, now. So almost perfect. She couldn’t be touched by the demon.

She fled to her sanctuary, a little piece of heaven hidden away from the Ink Demon’s tendrils. She’d drawn on the walls in parts, poor depictions of flowers and sunlight, snippets of songs that had been popular. She remembered so much but could only capture it in dripping ink and dingy, yellow light. This was no true heaven, but it was secure. It was hers, hidden away from others’ eyes.

“You’re fine, Susie,” Alice said once safely behind glass, a hand to her racing heart. Just the Ink Demon’s mere presence made her body ache, remembering his touch. The rot that it caused, the ruin. “You’re fine. Nobody will hurt us. We’ll be beautiful. We’ll make them pay.”

She didn’t want to make people pay, though. She just wanted to be beautiful, to be loved. Sammy called her Alice. His angel. Such a nice feeling, sweet venom from a snake.

All she had to do was wait for him to come, the snake devoured by the spider. She didn’t want to but — but she did. She wanted to be beautiful, and though she’d not seen Sammy she imagined he was handsome as ever. He’d be good material, she was sure.

She wanted to be free of this nightmare. Susie wanted sunlight and grass and the world outside. It sounded as far away as heaven, this dream she dreamt so long ago, of a world beyond the studio walls.

Nobody else remembered it, and so few others had the wherewithal to even comprehend. But maybe Sammy would, before she killed him. He might not remember _now_ , but he remembered his name, how to play. Perhaps Susie could jog his memory of the time before. Then she wouldn’t be alone (she was never alone, though, was she?).

(No, she was never alone.)

Alice turned on her microphone and began to sing.

  
  


Sammy traveled down, down, farther into the studio than he’d ever dared to go before, searching for his angel. He kept to the walls when he could, passed Butcher Gang members and searchers and Lost Ones. All pathetic, worth nothing to him or his lord. He traveled until the most wondrous sound caressed his ear — Alice was singing her siren song to him.

 _Come to me,_ she sang, her voice overlapping and melting into itself. It coaxed like a warm touch. Come to me, be mine.

He wondered what she’d sound like screaming for Bendy.

Then there she was, back to him as she sang into the microphone. She didn’t know he was here, lingering like a shadow in her brilliance. Sammy stayed a while longer in the wall, savoring the her voice.

He could snatch her away, brain her and tie her up as he did so many others for his lord. It would be so, so easy.

But he didn’t. Instead, Sammy observed. Alice’s body was the best formed that he’s ever seen, a flash of pale shoulder here, the sway of long hair there. Her hands were slender and dark, and she had a halo circling through her head. Just from behind, he could see she was as beautiful as she sounded.

He reached forward out of the wall, completely silent, and let his fingers hover just behind her neck. So close, so warm in this frigid inky waste. Such a sight to behold. So easy to kill.

“My angel,” Sammy murmured.

Alice stopped singing.

  
  


Susie’s heart leapt into her throat at the words. She couldn’t do this, she realized. She didn’t want Sammy to see her like this, still imperfect, still damaged. What would he say? What would he do, seeing her so malformed and monstrous? (No, no, shut up Susie. You need him. He’ll make you beautiful.)

Alice turned around with a deceptive calmness. Her expression barely flickered when she caught sight of his mask, his dripping form. She was expecting the man she knew before but this — this was Sammy Lawrence? A mockery of Bendy, with a blank, grinning mask and thick, ink-drenched fingers. The idea of them touching her made her shudder in disgust. This wasn’t the man she knew. This was…. this was pathetic.

“Oh, Sammy,” she cooed, voice tinged with sadness and a hint of mockery. “What has the Ink Demon done to you?”

He didn’t seem to care or notice her tone. “You’re beautiful.”

Susie unconsciously brought a hand to the twisted side of her face. Though his body was ruined, that voice was unchanged, beautiful and rich as chocolate (she remembered chocolate, remembered food that wasn’t that horrible bacon soup). It’d been so long since anyone had called her beautiful. It’d been so long since she’d spoken to anyone at all. Borises made for terrible conversationalists.

“Let me play for you, my angel,” Sammy continued. “Lend your voice the accompaniment it deserves.”

Seducer, Alice whispered in her own mind. Liar. _Liar._   ** _Liar_** **.**

“Of course, Sammy. I’d love to.”

She led him to a piano tucked away in a stairwell, and perched on the seat next to it. Alice felt absolutely devilish, taunting the Ink Demon with his own worshiper. When she saw how misshapen Sammy was, her plans had changed, fluid as the ink she so despised but needed to survive. She’d use him in different ways, then kill him just the same. Or perhaps she’d leave him for the Ink Demon, his precious lord.

Sammy began to play, and, though his fingers were no longer beautiful and thin, he played with a dexterity that belied his enfeebled state. And what a song it was, lilting and light, befitting of an angel.

Oh, how she missed singing properly, singing to an audience who _appreciated_ her voice. Susie loved singing, loved the role she’d been given. It curdled in her stomach to think of it being taken away, but here Sammy was, playing to her as though she really was an angel. His angel. Joey was wrong. Alice was who she was meant to be, and she was perfect for the role.

Without realizing it, Alice had joined Sammy on the piano bench. She sang, hands clasped, and Sammy’s eyes were on her — or what she took for them, hidden behind that dreadful mask. She had an audience, and he was wrapped around her finger already. She couldn’t just throw him away. Not yet.

When the Ink Demon came, as he always did, Sammy stopped playing with a surprised ‘my lord’. They reached for each other at the same time, Sammy’s hands to Alice’s throat, Alice’s to his suspenders. Alice proved to be stronger as she yanked Sammy off the bench, dragged him back into the safety of level 9.

She flung him to the ground as soon as they were behind the glass of her sanctuary. “What, dear Sammy, were you trying to do?” Alice hissed.

“You’re perfect, Alice. Your voice, your form — you’d be the most perfect sacrifice for my lord,” he said, and Alice was pleased to hear a slight quaver in his voice. She tried not to let the word perfect ring too loudly in her ears, and instead gathered her anger about her, shield and weapon all in one.

She tore away his mask, flecks of ink flying too from gashes in his cheek. Sammy cried out and scrambled for his precious coverage, but Alice wasn’t done yet. She caught his suspender again and yanked him back to her, ink against her pristine — _perfect_ — skin. Disgusting. Pathetic. Vile.

Alice kissed him.

They stumbled back against the dissection table she used to pick apart wretched creatures, and Alice caged Sammy between her arms. His hands rose again to her throat, thumbs pressing dangerously on her esophagus, stroking the soft skin beneath her jaw.

She kissed and kissed like she wanted to eat him alive, and they ground together hip to hip, chest to chest, smearing ink and melting, melting into one another. Alice’s hand slipped between them, tearing Sammy’s suspenders, shoving his pants down as she hiked her skirt up. Neither had the organs for sex, anymore, but she remembered. _She remembered._

Hands slipped down Alice’s back and curled around her thighs, holding her up as she ground against Sammy. He was so strong, so firm under her fingers as they splayed on his chest. Nothing like the Lost Ones, nothing like Boris. He was so solid and real and reminded her of before.

“Alice, Alice, my angel,” Sammy murmured against her lips, the words spilling out of the gaps where she wasn’t perfect, where teeth and bone were exposed. He had no eyes to judge her, though, so Alice let her gaze and fingers trail wherever they wanted.

They thrust and writhed, bodies melding at their hips, minds slipping into each other.

Perfect. Pathetic. Twisted and tangled. Sammy wanted this as much as Susie did. Though his memory was nothing but great gaping voids where she remembered so much, his body knew the touch of another human. His body yearned for it as much as hers did. There were no lies here; they had nowhere to hide.

“Call me Susie, please,” she managed to gasp. “Susie, Sammy. I’m Susie.”

He changed his words instantly, worshipfully, without any hesitation. This wasn’t the Sammy she knew before, this was just a paltry husk of the man he once was. This was what Bendy did to people. Sap them of their souls, their memories. Alice wouldn’t let the Ink Demon touch her. She wouldn’t forget.

Bendy, Alice, Susie, Sammy — names knotted up into each other, defining each other. Susie remembered warm flesh, skin not ink. She remembered whispered words and kinder voices. She remembered so much and, delving deep into Sammy even as he jerked his hips up to meet her, she realized he remembered so little.

It was tragic. Worthless. She had only herself in this dark, sodium-glow world. Alice cried as they fucked, ink dripping from her single eye. She’d been marked by the demon, blinded for her knowledge, blinded for defying him. And now she couldn’t see from the ink as it blurred her vision and leaked like blood (she remembered when blood ran through her veins, when she wasn’t ink, she wasn’t she wasn’t).

She clawed at Sammy, searching for his blood and bone and _humanness_. There had to be some remnant buried deep inside. There had to be something left, some spark of the man she once knew.

Alice came away with only ink. She shoved herself off of him, ink strung out between the two of them, their coupling half-finished, the ache still remaining. She’d hold that ache inside, cherish it for the contact it represented, for the feeling of being alive.

The Ink Demon couldn’t take this away from her. Sammy might be lost, but he was the closest thing to the world that she once knew (the world was real, this place was the lie. It was wrong, wrong. Susie just wanted to leave).

Alice was a mess, so unbefitting of an angel. She looked down at herself, glossy black ink splashed up her front, staining the ink-fabric of her dress and dripping down her thighs. Disgusting. Killing him would be a mercy he wasn’t owed, she told herself. It wasn’t that she couldn’t bring herself to destroy the last vestige of the world before, that beautiful dream she once dreamed.

“Leave, before I harvest you for your ink,” Alice said. She didn’t look at Sammy.

“My angel,” Sammy muttered, and she heard his ink-drenched footsteps. Then silence.

Alice touched her face, flinched away from the feeling of gaping holes and mangled flesh. She was so imperfect, so tainted by the Ink Demon, by the ink all around. Inescapable, viscous _ink._

She hated this place.

  
  


Sammy watched his angel from the walls. Even crying, even half-melted into ink, she was perfect. Alice was framed by the drawings on the walls, by the glint of glass behind her, making her broken halo glow. It was alien and yet comforting, as though he was seeing a world apart from the studio. Heaven, the word came to mind. A place neither would ever go. Something twisted inside, watching her anguish. He felt it in his own bones, some remnant of their coupling. He’d seen things, things he had no words for, things that fell sacreligious to even consider. Things from the time before.

What strange, dark powers Alice held, and yet she had chosen to share herself with him. It settled in his chest like a second heartbeat, something warm, something bright. She wanted him to remember, but to do so would be to defy his lord. Sammy would not. He could not. He hurt where she’d clawed furrows into his ink-flesh, and ink oozed out. He hurt from where their bodies had joined, such an intimate and forbidden sensation. Like the puddles that whispered, but only two of them, joined together, melded into one soul for even a brief moment.

He limped his way back to the music department, trailing ink, every step agony. Sammy felt he’d danced with death, and only by her mercy was he spared.

No, Sammy wouldn’t sacrifice Alice to his lord. She was a god in her own right. Sweet death.

He crept into his sanctuary to heal, thoughts of an unfamiliar yet achingly familiar face mingling with Alice’s. Sammy cradled the memory close, his secret sin, his Susie Campbell.


End file.
